Muslim-Jewish Harmony: A Politically-Contingent Reality

Abstract

This paper argues that Muslim-Jewish relations are largely contingent upon politics. Through the examination of Muslim and Jewish populations and their interaction with the state, this article demonstrates that at times of constructive political engagement, day-to-day Muslim-Jewish encounters are positive. Likewise, at times of political conflict, Muslim-Jewish harmony ceases. This article juxtaposes two distinct eras, along with two opposite case studies within them: Islamic Spain in the eleventh century and Israel in the twentieth/twenty-first century. In this manner, both eras demonstrate that the political reality between Muslims and Jews is the contingent factor that determines Muslim-Jewish relations in general.

1. Introduction

Throughout their history, Muslim-Jewish relations have been contingent on the political climate between Muslims and Jews. Therefore, both positive and negative interactions between Muslims and Jews can be observed in episodes of history, which have largely been shaped through the lens of contemporary political relationships. In order to avoid essentialist conflations and uninformed generalisations, the definitions of key words and their usage must be elucidated. The phrase ‘Muslim-Jewish relations’ implies the following:

(i)

That one’s religious identity is wholly exclusive, whereas this can differ in specific circumstances, especially in cases of forced conversions, inter-religious marriage, or communicatio in sacris—all of which were common in medieval Islamic Iberia.

(ii)

That one’s religious association is the primary, most important, and most distinguishable identity marker for an individual—which stands above ethnicity, nationality, tribal association, social class, and other perceivable markers.

(iii)

That a binary analysis is possible on its own terms—i.e., one does not need to contextualise further, for example, if Christian interplay was fundamentally significant to the Muslim-Jewish relationship (e.g., in Islamic Iberia), then to what extent is the analysis truly binary?

Evidently, there are a number of problematic semantic and technical hurdles that should be considered in inter-religious studies. For the purposes of this paper, which is by no means comprehensive, these markers are used because, despite the problems, inter-religious studies yield substantial tangible results when these markers are used—i.e., there is sufficient academic precedence and merit for an analysis upon this dualistic basis. Largely, points (i) to (iii) above are the exception to the rule, rather than the rule itself. Nevertheless, awareness of the limitations of such terms is integral in order to avoid fully endorsing the over-simplification of such terms as ‘Muslim’ or ‘Jew’ and what they connote.

This paper assesses Muslim-Jewish relations through the examination of Muslim and Jewish populations, and their interaction with the state—utilising Weber’s definition of the state: a political organisation with a centralised government that maintains a monopoly on the legitimate use of force within a certain territory (Cudworth et al. 2007). This article also utilises Weber’s definition of politics as the sphere of activity involved in running the state (ibid.). Contingency is defined as the diametric opposite to positive/negative inevitability—i.e., Muslim-Jewish harmony is completely conditional upon the Muslim-Jewish political climate. When the political climate is favourable, so too is the relationship between Jews and Muslims at large. Likewise, when the political climate is unfavourable, this too is reflected in the daily interactions between Muslims and Jews. In this manner, Muslim-Jewish harmony is a politically contingent reality.

This paper shall initially draw upon episodes of historical medieval Muslim-Jewish relations. These events occurred in the Iberian Peninsula under Islamic rule. This includes two accounts: Samuel ibn Naghrela, and a positive political relationship between medieval Muslims and Jews, and Joseph ibn Naghrela, and how a souring of this constructive political relationship led to widespread Muslim-Jewish opposition in Islamic Iberia. The close chronological proximity of the two events under analysis will aid the portrayal of a historic contingency based on politics in Muslim-Jewish relations, demonstrating that both positive and negative realities can exist within the same cultural and geographic context. The second part of this essay shifts towards the modern day, showcasing how the modern political relationship (post-1948) between Muslims and Jews is dominated by the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. This also provides two accounts. It initially draws upon religious opposition during Israeli military rule, due to the harsh conditions that the Israeli government inflicted upon the minority. The subsequent relative harmony due to the collapse in military rule showed an improvement for Muslims in Israel due to the seismic political change. Lastly, a brief analysis of the Abraham Accords and their effects in the UAE are presented as current evidence of the theory of political conditionality. The thread of political contingency therefore remains, regardless of whether this relationship is analysed in a specific historical context, or in a modern context, and whether the political authorities are Muslim or Jewish.

2. Islamic Iberia

Prior to the creation of the State of Israel in 1948, the vast majority of Muslim-Jewish interaction had occurred in lands where Muslims dominated the political leadership in the forms of emirates, kingdoms, or caliphates (Prager and Telushkin 1983). One such area was medieval Iberia. Coexistence is observed in the assessment of Muslim-Jewish relations in the Iberian Peninsula through the lens of convivencia—a term devised by Castro in 1948 to define the relative harmony and conviviality in which Muslims, Jews, and Christians lived in medieval Islamic Spain (Castro [1971] 2020). A clear example of this convivencia at work can be observed when assessing the manner in which Jews attained positions of relative political significance in Granada. However, the Granadan example also shows how rapidly this concept of convivencia was compromised through the collapse of a tolerant political relationship, causing Muslim-Jewish harmony to break down. A case study of two individuals can be shown to display such stark changeable conditionality—a father and son—Samuel ibn Naghrela and Joseph ibn Naghrela. Once this contingency on politics is displayed in a historic setting, a modern analysis displaying the continuity of this political contingency shall demonstrate how current Muslim-Jewish relations follow these historic trends.

2.1. Samuel ibn Naghrela—A Functional Political Reality

Samuel ibn Naghrela was an Andalusian Jew born in Mérida in 993 CE. He studied Jewish law and became a well-known Talmudic scholar, fluent in both Hebrew and Arabic (Eban 1984). He began his career as a merchant in Córdoba (Marcus 1938). Civil war in the Amirid Kingdom led to the Amazighs assuming power in 1013 CE, forcing him to flee to Málaga. His relations with the Granadan royal court began in a somewhat coincidental manner. The shop he opened was by the palace of the vizier of Granada, Abu al-Qāsim (Marcus 1938). The vizier met Samuel through his maidservant, who had commissioned Samuel as her scribe. His personal relationship with the Granadan royal court developed, and he was appointed as a tax collector, then a secretary, and finally, an assistant vizier of state to the Amazigh king, Ḥabbūs al-Muẓaffar (Eban 1984). Samuel’s biographical background demonstrates the relative ease by which a Jew could attain a position of high social status in Islamic Iberia. His relocation from Córdoba to Málaga was due to the beliefs of the incoming Amazighs. They, like the later Almohads, rejected the concept of dhimma in favour of forced conversions and deportations, which evidently, was a policy that was not receptive to a religiously pluralistic society. Nevertheless, the Zirid kingdom (which controlled the Taifa of Granada at the time) was itself also an Amazigh dynasty, and Naghrela was able to not only attain the position of vizier, but ultimately control the day-to-day activities of the state. This showcases that not only within Islamic statehood, but also within internal Amazigh Andalusian hegemony, there was a profound heterogeneity regarding the various state approaches and attitudes towards Jews.

However, the true success of Naghrela materialised following the death of Ḥabbūs. Using his newfound influence and widespread popularity in the Granadan royal court, Samuel ensured that King Ḥabbūs’ second son, Bādīs, succeeded him, rather than his first born, Bulukkīn (Stillman 1979). According to the Sefer ha-Kabbalah, this was partly due to internal court politics, but also to the fact that Bādīs was more favoured by the Jewish population that supported Naghrela (Abraham b. Daud 1971; Schechter 1902). In return for his support, Bādīs made Samuel his chief vizier and military commander in-chief—a position he held for up to three decades. According to the Pact of ꜤUmar, dhimmis were not permitted to hold public office in Islamic nations, so that they would not achieve a position of dominance over Muslim citizens (Stillman 1979). This issue was however harmonised in 1027 CE by Samuel’s assumption of the title of Nagīd (Heb. ‘Prince’), thereby circumventing a controversial and contentious political situation and describing his suzerainty over the Iberian-Jewish population as opposed to full political control over the Islamic nation. His de facto control of the nation, however, remained comprehensive (Constable 1997). Through his newfound political power, and as a Talmudic scholar, Samuel radically sought to declare autonomy from the Babylonian Geonim (the authoritative centre for Jewish learning) by writing independently on Jewish law for the Jewish-Iberian community (Eban 1984). Under Samuel, The Nagīd became the undisputed leader of Spanish Jewry. He promoted the welfare of Jews through a variety of acts. For example, he encouraged Jewish learning by purchasing numerous copies of the Talmud for the local Jewish community. He also promoted the study of the Talmud by providing fiscal support to those who wished to study the Torah for their livelihoods (Marcus 1938).

Samuel ibn Naghrela’s practical achievements for the Jewish community are clear evidence that the inter-denominational fertile political ground in Iberia was not only accessible to Jews, but led to a marked improvement in Jewish life in Granada. This approach is used by scholars such as Menocal to support the theory of the Golden Age of Jews in al-Andalus, showcasing the ability of a Jew to not only physically command the Islamic army himself, run the daily affairs of state, and handle the external diplomatic relations of the Granadan state with its neighbours—but to also make significant improvements for the local Jewish community. It was Samuel’s expert political handling of state affairs and experience in dealing with the Muslim courtiers that brought achievements for the entirety of the Jewish community, showcasing that a functioning political reality between Muslims and Jews was inherently necessary to sustain a thriving sociopolitical dynamic between Muslims and Jews. According to Menocal, this reflects the interreligious sociopolitical tolerance that was an ‘inherent aspect of Andalusian society’ (Menocal 2002).

2.2. Joseph ibn Naghrela—Political Disintegration

A paradoxical relationship can be observed after the death of Samuel, when Joseph ibn Naghrela assumed his father’s viziership. In so doing, he also assumed the responsibility of representing the Jewish community of Granada, as his father had done. Fry posits that an individual in a position of representative authority regarding his/her religious community can be responsible for the manifestation of functional or dysfunctional relations (Fry 2012). In the case of Joseph, his immense control of King Bādīs led to fear that the Jewish minority voice would threaten the integrity of the Muslim state and discontent among the Muslim courtiers who felt Jews were given preferential treatment to Muslims. Subsequently, the Muslim general populace was frenzied about Joseph’s supposedly threatening political intentions, culminating in a famous anti-Jewish poem written by Abu Isḥāq of Elvira, one of Joseph’s political rivals (Lewis 1984).

Amongst the rhymes was the verse:

• ‘Do not consider it a breach of faith to kill them, the breach of faith would be to let them carry on.
• They have violated our covenant with them, so how can you be held guilty against the violators?’

‘The covenant’ here refers to the Pact of ꜤUmar, which involved an agreement of protection between Muslim suzerains and dhimmī (protected) subjects. According to the final stipulation of the agreement, once the pact is broken, the ahl al-dhimma are to be treated as ‘people of defiance and rebellion’ (Tritton 1930). As highlighted above, the pact did not allow for dhimmis to attain public office, and Samuel’s circumvention of that clause did not apply to Joseph—he was not a favoured ‘nagīd’. The political goodwill that existed for his father did not extend to him, due to the supposed political threat that was linked to his Jewish identity. The distribution of this poem allegedly resulted in a rousing of the Muslim population against the entire Jewish minority and the infamous Granada Massacre of 1066 CE, where Joseph himself was killed, along with approximately 1500 Jewish households (Viguera-Molins 2010). Spivakovsky argued in her seminal assessment of Jewish Granada that these may have been hyperbolic estimates (Spivakovsky 1971). Nevertheless, the threat that Joseph personified through his supposed political ambitions was enough for a complete breakdown in the day-to-day relations between Muslims and Jews.

The juxtaposition of these two starkly different yet chronologically contemporary images of Muslim-Jewish relations seems, at first glance, somewhat unfathomable. In order to accommodate this, scholars of interreligious history have often adopted one side of this dual vision to create narrative history. Events showcasing positively functional Muslim-Jewish relations are used to create a utopian image of Jewish life under Islamic rule, whereas events showcasing dysfunctional Muslim-Jewish relations are used to create a narrative of Jewish persecution under Islamic rule as the historical norm.

To this end, eminent Jewish scholars, such as Heinrich Graetz, Merlin Swartz, Salo Baron, and Shelomo Dov Goitein, contributed to building the first face of this dual vision, arguing for a positive narrative of the Jewish experience in the Islamic world. According to this vision, the supposed ‘liberal’ treatment of Jews in Islamic Iberia is a clear example of the Islamic world’s more tolerant attitudes towards Jews, especially when compared to Christendom (Swartz 1970). This view is coupled with the aforementioned principle of convivencia, presenting a utopian vision of Muslim-Jewish relations as the historical norm. In order to harmonise negative events with this vision, they are often portrayed as anomalous episodes to which belong an external justification—such as a uniquely stringent interpretation of Islam, or the tyranny of a ruler (Bennison and Gallego 2007). From the mid-twentieth century however, there emerged the rise of a diametrically opposite school, which Mark Cohen termed, the ‘neo-Lachrymose conception of Jewish-Arab history’ (Cohen 1991). This school argued that utopian depictions of Muslim-Jewish relations throughout history were false exaggerations, and that the Islamic world, like Christendom, was typically persecutory of Jewish people. Amongst the school’s prominent proponents was Rose Lewis, who conflated the aforementioned example of the Granada Massacre of 1066 CE to ‘thirteen centuries of discrimination and persecution’ (Lewis 1971). In order to harmonise this latter vision with episodes of seeming coexistence, these too were portrayed as anomalies. This struggle between a narrative of constant coexistence against a narrative of conflict was highlighted by Cohen, who argued that the truth must be somewhere between these two opposing historical narratives.

In highlighting the evidently changeable nature of Muslim-Jewish relations, Cohen’s approach exposes that the oversimplification inherent in a singular narrative of coexistence or conflict lacks factual complexity and nuance. However, Cohen’s conclusion does not address why the situation is indeed so changeable. It is, in fact, due to the political contingency of Muslim-Jewish relations. When the political situation is conducive to co-operation, whether in the form of representation or leadership, this results in positive involvement of the minority population, who harmoniously co-exist with the majority group in a positive manner. Regarding Samuel’s case, the Jewish community was a thriving minority in Granada, and this enabled a religio-social mobility in which a Jewish rabbi and merchant could become the most politically powerful figure in the land. Once Samuel was in that position, the Jewish community was able to further thrive. The subsequent breakdown in the entire Muslim-Jewish fabric was triggered by the breakdown in a political relationship that formed during a period of coexistence. It is telling to note that the breakdown was prompted purely by a hypothetical political threat, rather than an actual one. It is therefore clear that historic Muslim-Jewish relations are contingent upon an acceptable political situation between Muslims and Jews, and that when this is reached, relations are generally sound. Once this breaks down, however, there is a complete breakdown between Muslims and Jews at large. This principle carries through to the modern day, albeit in an inverted manner. The current focal point of Muslim-Jewish relations is marred by the Israel-Palestine situation. This situation now sees Muslims as the minority population in the face of Jewish leadership. The same oversimplifications creating a dual narrative throughout history is true for the modern day (as demonstrated in the final section of this article), and Muslim-Jewish relations are once again hinged on the contingency of political situations.

3. Continuation of Political Contingency Post-1948—The Modern Day

Approaching the topic of Muslims in Israel is complex. Primarily, the Israel-Palestine conflict is often framed as a Zionist religio-national struggle against Palestinians only, a group of Levantine Arabs lost in political limbo since 1948. In this manner, reframing the entire conflict as a Muslim-Jewish conflict does not reflect the geographic and historical complexities associated with the Israel-Palestine conflict. To this end, certain nuances must be accounted for. First, though it is linked to their national identity, not all Israelis are Jewish. Likewise is the case with Palestinians and Islam, with 79% professing Islam as their faith, but also a sizeable population of 20% adhering to Christianity (Al-Komi 2018). This demographic consideration is significant in order to engage with modern academic approaches to the State of Israel. However, the question arises concerning which identity marker should be used as a point of comparison between two groups of people (as is mentioned in point (ii) of the introduction to this paper). Moreover, this question can indeed be applied to any historical situation. To what extent did Granadan Jews view themselves as Jewish rather than Andalusian? This questions the very premise of the dichotomy of Muslim-Jewish relations. Thus far in inter-religious studies, dichotomic categorisations have provided fruitful results. For this reason, one is not required to view the Israel-Palestine conflict as a unique reality upon which we cannot base an analysis for Muslim-Jewish relations. On the contrary, a study conducted in 2003 showed that over 60% of Palestinians felt that Islam was their most significant identity marker, more so than ‘Israeli citizen’ and even ‘Palestinian’ (Al-Atawneh and Ali 2018). This is striking, considering that this survey included Palestinian Christians and Druze, which would have increased the number of respondents who would have preferred the ‘Palestinian’ category (most Christians) and ‘Israeli Citizen’ (most Druze) over ‘Muslim’ (Dana 2003).

Secondly, the goals of modern Zionism fusing world Jewry into one national endeavour had achieved a feat that was hitherto unaccomplished since Late Antiquity—the creation of a Jewish state, for Jewish people. In 1948, this milestone marked the first time in which Muslims became the minority population in a Jewish state. In order to examine the durability of the theory of the political contingency of Muslim-Jewish relations, one must analyse this new inversion of the political power structure that previously dominated this interaction, in order to illustrate the robustness of this theorem in the modern day. This section shall showcase an initial negative relationship in Muslim-Jewish relations caused by restrictive Israeli policies, and the subsequent progression of Palestinian Muslims in the form of the sahwa after the withdrawal of these restrictive policies by the Israeli authorities.

3.1. Deadlock—The Military Regime

The military regime of 1948 to 1966 saw the State of Israel impose severe restrictions on its Muslim minority population, which ultimately resulted in their isolation from the wider Muslim community of the Middle East and of the Islamic world. The political reality of 1948 resulted in a lack of religious leadership, as over 50% of Ꜥulamā’ (religious scholars) had either fled or were forcibly removed from their homes (Rubin-Peled 2001). Furthermore, religious rituals were also restricted by the military governor of Israel, who capped the number of religious leaders to a small number of traditional, ‘essential’ individuals with limited functions, including imāms (who lead prayers), qāḍīs (religious judges), and mu’adhdhins (who perform the call to prayers), (Al-Atawneh and Ali 2018). This led to a stagnation of Muslims seeking leadership roles. These positions became government appointed, at the behest of the Israeli Ministry of Religion. The previously extensive responsibilities of religious leaders were diminished, resulting in the activity of only the very basic of religious rites. Indeed, the long-standing properties of waqf were confiscated by the government, and in some cases, were reassigned to certain Muslim committees under Israeli state command—rendering the waqf under de facto Israeli control. A clear case of this was the result of the Law of Absentees (1950), which established committees with state-appointed trustees in mixed Jewish-Muslim cities to be in charge of the waqf, known as ‘released properties’ (Rubin-Peled 2001). This effectively gave the Israeli government control over disputed land. Additionally, Islamic religious education for Muslims in Israel was not promoted by the Israeli education system. Indeed, only a set number of hours were dedicated to the study of religion in schools. This was in stark contrast to the customs of the Palestinians before 1948, who deemed it an essential discipline (Al-Atawneh and Ali 2018). This resulted in a chronic shortage of Islamic scholars, a shortfall that was not adequately addressed by the Israeli government (Ministry of Religious Affairs 1962).

The dominant political ideologies existing in the Arab countries surrounding Israel in the 1950s and 1960s were nationalist, rather than Islamic. Consequently, Arab movements established in the 1960s in Israel were mainly nationalist movements that engaged in topics such as the identity of the Palestinians (Ali 2004). A case in point for this is the al-Arḍ (the land movement), which argued for pan-Arab unity and repatriation to dwellings lost after the 1948 war—explicitly side-lining any religious connotations (Ali 2004). This coincided with the birth of nationalist movements, including Fataḥ and its leader Arafat, who mirrored and espoused similar nationalist rhetoric like their Arab neighbours (Aburish 1998). This shift in approach was also evidenced by the absence of any new, significant Islamic organisations or ideological movements until the end of the military period.

Thus, the military rule and the stifling conditions that this political reality created in Israel between the 1950s and the early 1960s led to a general stagnation of Muslim religious life in Israel and forced Palestinians to seek a new pan-Arab vision. Tibi argues that the failure of Arab nationalist states against Israel in the 1967 war led to Palestinians seeking an alternative to pan-Arabism, manifesting itself in an Islamic awakening and the desire to reframe the Israel-Palestine conflict as a Muslim-Jewish clash (Tibi 1981). Nevertheless, military control ceased in 1966, and this significant political upheaval, alongside the end of the 1967 war, marked a turning point for Muslims in the Jewish State of Israel.

3.2. The Sahwa—A Religio-Political Rise

The cessation of military rule in 1966 led to a marked rise in Muslim expression, practice, and relative freedom. This is often termed the sahwa (Islamic awakening). The absence of previous restrictive measures, and the new confidence that Muslims in Israel exuded, resulted in an increase in both Palestinian and religious dress, greater demand for ḥalāl produce, and an increased presence at mosques (Al-Atawneh and Ali 2018). For example, in 1973, there was only one mosque in the entirety of the Negev; however, by 1987, demand had increased this number to twenty-six (Freih 2014). This was due to a new, relatively conducive political reality that Muslims found themselves in after the tight restrictions of military rule were relaxed. Israel opened the gates to many individuals from the newly occupied West Bank and Gaza Strip to visit Al-Aqṣā in Jerusalem, and other religious sites in Hebron. In addition to this, the Muslim population was given the ability to perform the ḥajj to Mecca. Neither ḥajj, nor visiting Al-Aqṣā, was possible under the stringent regulations of military rule (Rekhess 1989).

The sahwa also spurred a desire for Muslims to engage within the Israeli political sphere. According to Rouhana and Dumper, the most significant Islamic movement that materialised due to the sahwa was Al-Ḥarika Al-Islāmiyya fī Isrā’īl (The Islamic Movement in Israel, hereafter IM), (Rouhana 1997; Dumper 1994). Established in 1971 by Shaykh Darwish, it remains the most influential Islamic organisation within Israel. Since the 1980s, it has supported Palestinians in Israel, providing aid to clinics and sports clubs, many of these in remote Arab villages (Rosmer 2010). Moreover, it provided Muslims with their first coherent, political voice within Israel. The IM initially ran in the municipal elections of 1989, gaining a significant number of seats. This transformed the political reality for Arabs in Israel. Arabs were still excluded from influencing matters relating to foreign policy or internal security, but the arena of local politics was now one where Islam and Muslims were explicitly represented. This grew in the 1990s, causing the IM to run in national elections, seeking representation in the Knesset. Though this eventually led to an internal contention within the IM as to whether seeking election to the Knesset was the best strategy, it demonstrated the desire for Muslims to engage with the political arena in Israel, and to do so through an explicitly Islamic movement. The political pragmatism of the IM in engaging with the ‘Jewish establishment’ was best summarised by Shaykh Darwish: ‘those who desire peace must throw dreams aside and compromise’ (Darwish 2001). The IM is active to this day; however, it has shifted its focus inward to the education of Muslims in Israel in order to provide them with a clear understanding of Islam.

By examining the fluctuating treatment of Muslims by the Israeli authorities (and the subsequent effects of such treatment upon the Muslim population), one can discern an equivalent thread of political conditionality between that which existed in Islamic Iberia between Muslim rulers and the Jewish populace, and that which existed in the Jewish-Israeli regime and its Muslim population.

4. The Abraham Accords—Present Developments

In August and September of 2020, the UAE and Bahrain respectively normalised diplomatic relations with the State of Israel, in a set of agreements known as the Abraham Accords. Soon after the agreements were made, the newly-founded JCC Jewish UAE opened its YouTube channel, on which it posted ‘The Jewish Community of the UAE,’ which features a Mizrahi chant using maqām al-rast, emphasising the shared musical scales between Mizrahi Jews and Arab Muslims (JCC JewishUAE 2020). The video features a supplication and lauds the UAE government for their dedication to the Jewish people, prays for its longevity and success, and invokes God’s blessings for stability upon the UAE and the Jews therein. At the time of the publication of this article, the video has over 100,000 views, and is steadily increasing. JCC Jewish UAE also opened an Instagram account and a Facebook page under ‘Jewish UAE’—demonstrating that their Emirati identity is now commemorated alongside their Jewish identity, and such an identity can be celebrated in the public domain. In turn, attitudes of the Emirati population have shifted from viewing the Jewish population as suspicious and insincere to now sharing geo-political, strategic, social, and even religious values (Fulton and Yellinek 2021; Boms and Aboubakr 2022). This shift in Emirati public opinion demonstrates current events as following the thread of how Muslim-Jewish harmony is based on political conditionality.

Indeed, in the Arab world more widely, opposition to Israel does not stem from the state’s ‘Jewishness’—rather, opposition stems from political reasons. A total of 93.3% of respondents included in the Arab Opinion Index (which includes Algeria, Lebanon, Jordan, Tunisia, Mauritania, Palestine, Iraq, Qatar, Kuwait, Morocco, Egypt, Sudan, and Saudi Arabia) cited humanitarian, political and security reasons for denouncing Israel, and only 6.7% cited religious reasons to oppose Israel (Arab Opinion Index 2020). These findings demonstrate that the populations of many Muslim countries consider Israel’s policies before its religion, and evaluate it on that basis. In their view, Israel falls short of its obligations towards its Palestinian minority, and therefore, it is criticised upon that basis. The criticisms themselves however, may take the form of anti-Jewish, anti-Zionist, or other anti-Israeli rhetoric.

As perilous as it is to predict future events, certain general trends can be anticipated. For instance, if the UAE government were to reverse its policy on Israel in the future, this would undoubtedly negatively affect the small but growing Jewish presence in the country. Likewise, if other Muslim countries were to improve political relations with Israel, Jews in those countries would thrive in terms of expression. In turn, if Israel were to improve its sociopolitical treatment of Palestinian Muslims, other Muslim countries and societies would in turn view Jews and Judaism more positively.

5. Implications

Historians and social scientists often use one side of the clearly variable treatment of Islam in Israel in order to bolster their claims. For example, views in line with the pan-Islamic perspective cite the restrictive military regime in Israel and the harsh treatment of the Palestinian population as part of a narrative of total and complete oppression by Israelis towards Palestinians, and in particular, Muslims (Kramer 1986; Freas 2012). This is parallel to how neo-Lachrymose historians view unfortunate periods of contention in Islamic Iberia as part of a grand historical trend of Muslim perpetual persecution of Jews. Moreover, many social scientists and historians in line with the Zionist view cite the positive freedoms that Muslims have in Israel and utilise this to ignore the reality that tensions occasionally flare, generating Muslim-Jewish conflict (Cohen 2009). This mirrors the approach of what Cohen termed the ‘Golden Age’ theory of historians attempting to portray Islamic Iberia as free from religious contention (Cohen 1991). Regarding both cases of positive/negative simplistic narratives, the reality of Muslim-Jewish harmony is more complex. Unfortunately, many have resorted to creating a false, singular narrative of perpetual conflict or coexistence. As can be ascertained when analysing all these examples, periods of both contention and relative harmony exist between Muslims and Jews. This paper, therefore, disproves (albeit in an introductory manner) the general conclusions of scholars such as Menocal, Rose, and other such narrative historians. However, this article goes further still, and responds to Cohen’s ‘neo-Lachrymose’ thesis wherein he correctly identifies that the ‘Wissenschaft des Judentums’ scholars (who portray an inter-religious utopia) are simplistic, as are the neo-Lachrymose historians. Cohen identifies that both narratives are simplistic and problematic, but does not theorise as to why. This article takes the first step in demonstrating a political-contingency thesis regarding Muslim-Jewish harmony.

In the cases of both Islamic Iberia and Israel, Muslim-Jewish tensions do not stem from religious dictates, interpretation of scripture, or other external factors (though these may be hijacked through political aims). Tensions are hinged on the political reality of the time; amidst a working and conducive political relationship, the treatment of the minority group in relation with the majority group is also amicable. This applies whether the actors of political or state power are Muslim or Jewish, or whether these realities are taken from the past or the modern day. This paper has therefore outlined a clearly identifiable and testable trend, using both historical and modern examples in order to showcase that Muslim-Jewish relations are conditional upon the political climate that exists—in other words, they are inevitably changeable, due to the perpetual hinge upon state-minority politics. The results of the case studies in this article are largely indicative of the trend outlined in the figure below. For a comprehensive argument, one must analyse more case studies to determine whether the thesis withstands different episodes of Muslim-Jewish relations. The first example from this article outlines this trend from a period of positive relations to negative, displaying a ‘breakdown’ in relations; however, the second example outlines that this trend can indeed begin from a period of contention and ultimately result in a period of coexistence. In this manner, the theory also proves to be reversible, and that relations can exist at any point between the two extremes, dependent on the political relationship (see Figure 1). This relationship, however, relies on political conditionality when one group is in a position of power or political dominance over the other. This has been the case in all Muslim countries, with Muslims in a position of state power over the Jewish populations, and in the modern Jewish state of Israel, with Jews in a dominant position over Muslims. This principle cannot, therefore, be applied to many Western countries in which both populations of Muslims and Jews form a minority, with a generally Christian-dominated political establishment.

This article takes a bold step and reaches a careful, but over-arching, conclusion. In such cases, it is commonplace for a response to this article to include scenarios which do not seem to follow the political-contingency rule. To this end, there may be anomalous scenarios that may not seem to follow this rule. However, the above rule is a general trend that is largely followed, as demonstrated by the historical, modern, and current examples presented in this article.